


what's fiery red, pale white, dark blue and purple?

by cancerthecrabbo



Category: Adventures of Tintin (2011), Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Bruises, Caretaking, Family, Father Figures, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light-Hearted, Protectiveness, Sleepiness, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2018, Worry, rated for one (1) curse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 05:36:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16382396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cancerthecrabbo/pseuds/cancerthecrabbo
Summary: It's nothing they're not used to.  Bruises and cuts are just a hazard of the job.  Some days are harder than others but with Nestor's breakfast, everything seems a little better.(Day 10 of Whumptober: Bruises)





	what's fiery red, pale white, dark blue and purple?

**Author's Note:**

> just a nice quiet morning. i lubb tintin. he's so adorable :D

Haddock doesn’t know how to deal with most things.  He used to turn to the bottle and lose himself in a drunken haze instead of attempting to understand his own emotions.  Thinking hard about upsetting things is, obviously, uncomfortable for anyone.  But Haddock has promised too many people greater than himself that he will stop using alcohol as a means to escape.  One of those people is Tintin.

 

The issue at hand is Tintin.  Well, it’s about the fact that Tintin isn’t even old enough to smoke and yet he's gotten hurt more often than even the sailors Haddock used to be friends with.  It's a horrifying thought to realize on a chilly October morning the day after an adventure ended.  It had gone relatively well; no one is dead or permanently injured but Tintin had been harmed yet again in the course of the adventure. 

 

Haddock usually wakes up early because of his days on a ship where, one way or another, one would wake up with the sun.  Even though there isn’t any salt water spraying his face, Haddock wakes as the day is born and goes down into the kitchen for his usual coffee and eggs.  Nestor greets him mildly with Haddock’s favorite mug filled with piping hot coffee, to which Haddock responds by telling him that he is a godsend.

 

Nestor gives him a nod and modest curl of his lips.  “Good morning to you, too, Archibald.” 

 

“Ya seem tense, Nestor.”

 

“I am fairly worried about Tintin,” Nestor says evenly, “I may bring his breakfast up to him.”

 

Nestor doesn’t provide much more insight into the tightness of his brow, inevitably making the dread in Haddock’s stomach darken.  He realizes suddenly that Nestor is giving the opportunity to check in on Tintin without seeming overbearing.  Haddock quietly thanks him and then heads off to the kitchen.  He’s greeted by a silver tray holding a gorgeous plate of eggs, bacon, and toast, and a glass of orange juice.  If the smell doesn’t wake Tintin, an adolescent boy, then it’s time to go to the hospital.

 

It’s awfully quiet in the mansion without Tintin at his side.  Usually, they’d go for a stroll when he doesn’t have work, especially the day after an adventure.  The absence of the tuft of ginger hair bobbing alongside Haddock’s shoulder is unnerving. 

 

The silence thickens and becomes stifling as he turns into the hallway leading to Tintin’s room.  Haddock sets the tray down on the floor and knocks on the door.  For a long moment, no one answers.  He’s about to knock again when Tintin’s muffled voice calls, _come in_. 

 

He pushes the door open and instantly notes that Tintin is still in bed, wrapped up in his covers and curtains closed.  There’s a crumpled bottle of water on the floor and his clothes are thrown over a chair.  The closet door has been left open.  It’s apparent that Tintin threw on his pajamas, fell into bed, and hasn’t moved since.

 

Haddock keeps a sharp eye on the kid while he bends down to grab the tray.  The clatter of the silver makes Tintin grimace.  He catalogs the symptoms ( _headache_ , _exhaustion_ ); if anything is even slightly off, he’ll carry Tintin to the hospital himself. 

 

“Hey, lad,” keeping his voice low, Haddock sets the tray down as quietly as possible.  “Are ya feelin’ alright?  Ya usually wake up earlier.”

 

“Yes, yes…I’m fine.”  Tintin gives a wan smile.  “Just a bit tired is all.  Thank you for the food.”  His bright hair is rumpled and the bruise has formed in all its painful glory. 

 

Yesterday, he was pushed quite hard into a brick wall by some dumbass thug.  The subsequent bruises have billowed out from the point of contact – which is practically his entire left side – all the way up his jaw.  They’re dark purple and blue, the hues standing out against his pale skin and freckles. 

 

Tintin makes an effort to eat, and he does put a dent in the eggs and bacon, but it’s obvious he’d rather be asleep again.  Haddock stays with him until he can no longer sit up.  When Tintin begins to tip over with his eyes half-closed and the fork halfway to his mouth, Haddock takes the liberty to tuck him back under the covers. 

 

“’M not…tired,” Tintin mumbles.  “’M fine, really.”

 

“Alright, lad, I believe ya.  Why don’t I read what you have so far and tell you how to make it 20 times better, eh?”  Haddock chuckles at the mere thought of out-writing the boy.  No one else really has the knack that Tintin has for threading sentences together, making the words in the newspaper sound just right. 

 

Opening the curtain a couple inches, just to let some light in, Haddock sits himself down on the chair beside the bed.  There’s a worn leather journal lying open on the table with some messy writing, but Haddock is used to the kid’s handwriting by now and can pick out all of the familiar circles and sweeping lines that indicate each letter.

 

It may or may not be completely intentional that Haddock’s low, steady voice is lulling Tintin into what he hopes is a deep sleep. It helps him sleep a little better at night knowing that Tintin trusts him.  Haddock has sworn to himself to protect the kid until the very end.  When he saw Tintin on the ground with a stunned look on his face, Haddock had knocked out the thug with one swing.  It’s the least he could do when the kid had already been hurt.  The familiar vague guilt manifests in his chest, unwanted memories of past injuries floating up.  No matter.  Next time he’ll be there sooner, hit harder, run faster.  After all, he can’t really count on Tintin to stop going after bad guys.


End file.
